"We Grow out of Iron"
Look! I stand among them: machines, hammers, furnaces
and forges and among hundreds of comrades.
Above is iron-forged space.
Along the sides run girders and angle bars.
They rise twenty meters.
They bend right and left.
They are joined together by trusses in the cupolas and, like the shoulders of a giant, support the entire iron building.
They are impetuous; they are bold; they are strong.
They demand even greater strength.
I look at them and stand up straight.
Into my veins flows new iron blood.
I have grown still higher.
I myself grow steel shoulders and arms immeasurably strong. I have merged with the building's iron.
I have risen. My shoulders force out trusses, upper girders, roof.
My feet are still on the earth, but my head is above the building.
I still gasp for breath from these inhuman efforts, but already shout:
"Let me speak, comrades, let me speak!"
The iron echo covers my words; the entire building vibrates with impatience. And I have risen still higher, I am already on a level with the chimneys.
Neither story nore speech, but only one iron word I'll shout:
"We shall be victorious!"